


Are you looking for the sun, boy?

by the_other_lutece_sister



Series: propunk one-shots [5]
Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: BDSM, F/F, F/M, Murder, propunk - Freeform, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 07:52:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7749412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_other_lutece_sister/pseuds/the_other_lutece_sister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rachel Duncan kills a man (again)...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Are you looking for the sun, boy?

**Author's Note:**

> Because we only have one more season for this to happen.  
> If you love Rachel Duncan, please love yourself and read This game worth playing.

Rachel Duncan slapped the man’s face and snapped an order at him.

He obeyed.

 

Rachel was furious. At him, for insinuating she was weak, for pushing the buttons he always pushed whenever she became unsympathetic to his desires, the buttons that made the red mist rise up in her mind and compelled her to act to prove him wrong.

At herself, for letting the buttons be pushed. But if she hated herself for it - well. She could take it out on him. Yet that was what he wanted. How do you truly punish someone who enjoys the punishment?

She smiled and snarled and all the while her mind ticked away.

 

                                                               ⇤     ⇥

 

She was bored with Ferdinand. Bored of keeping up the pretence that he meant something to her. Bored of patting him on the head. Bored of indulging his whims. Bored of being the Rachel that he presumed to know so well.

He had proven useful over the years, but after this one last job, she was prepared to cut him loose.

So to speak.

He had already been replaced by men who would remain faceless, who would be payed enough to be loyal and they would never lay eyes on her, let alone hands.

She had it brought in by helicopter, and moved into the third bedroom downstairs. Two were already occupied by her other guests.

The rest was so easy as to be predictable. Especially now he knew she had Sarah here. She had seen how the idea of the two of them - Rachel, and Sarah, and Rachel and Sarah - had taken hold of him, left him speechless (for once.)

The thought of aiming Sarah at him like an attack dog, like a _gun,_ had its allure. But she could be...unpredictable. And she was still weak from her injuries. From what Rachel had done to her.

 

Rachel exhaled slowly, making a pleased _mmm_ sound. Her fingers made the slightest movement, as if to reach for a knife, then stroked down her thigh in a soothing, repetitive gesture instead.

_He couldn’t tell the difference, between you and me_

Well. Who could these days?

 

Ferdinand arrived, rubbing his hands both in anticipation and from the cold. His breath plumed as he spoke, as if giving his words form, but no weight. His eyes flicked between Rachel, standing at the door, and the interior of the house, as if expecting Sarah to be there to welcome him in with a warming drink and a smile.

Rachel looked at him from under her lashes, murmuring words that meant nothing. When he started talking again, she turned her head to the side and sighed. Then shifted into her expected role, and cut through his noise with a command.

He obeyed.

She made him crawl all the way to the third bedroom. From the front door, down the stairs, hitting him with her cane when he slowed down. He looked quite ridiculous. She was almost amused. As they passed the bedroom that held Sarah, Rachel realized she was holding her breath, as if she was trying to hear Sarah through the solid wood of the door. She let her fingers trail along the grain for a moment, then the moment passed.

 

Finally, they reached the room, and Ferdinand's face lit up at the sight of the large wooden chest sitting in the middle of the floor.

“Oh, Rachel.” His voice had that tone it always had when she displayed herself in one of his awful gifts. “You shouldn’t have.”

Her lips tightened into a smile. The chest looked exactly the same as it always had. But the inside had been treated to make it absolutely airtight.

 

“Well.” she replied, as warmly as she could, “You’ve earned it.”

 

The **click** of the lock made her think of the _click_ of the safety trigger, which made her think of the gun, which made her think of Sarah. Rachel wanted to fetch her now, to share this moment with her, to make her _understand._ Why wouldn’t she **understand** _?_

She paused at Sarah’s door again. Put her hand against the wood. Imagined Sarah on the other side, her fingers outstretched, just inches away from her own. Felt the key that she kept in her pocket, with the gun.

_Soon_ , she said gently, made her way back upstairs to choose a bottle of wine, fingers closing over the bottle of 1951 Penfolds Grange Hermitage. She glanced at the label. Australia. Where the black swans live. Maybe she should take a trip there one day, to the _other_ end of the world.

 

She slept soundly that night. She didn’t dream.

 

After a week, she took Sarah, limping, her eyes dark, into the room, and opened the box. The smell was pungent but the cold air had kept it from being much worse. Sarah covered her mouth, and looked at Rachel, confusion and horror mingling on her face.

Rachel smiled and beckoned, her voice husky.

 

_Look….look, Sarah._

**Author's Note:**

> plants and rags  
> ease myself into a body-bag  
> dreamt a man  
> he fed me fine food,  
> he gave me shiny things
> 
> white and black  
> Are you looking for the sun boy?  
> the sun doesn't shine down here,  
> no,  
> in the shadows  
> -plants & rags by PJ Harvey
> 
>  
> 
> (I picked that particular wine because I knew it was the most expensive in this country - even so, I was not prepared for a bottle costing $38, 420. Rachel deserves it though.)


End file.
